White noise pounded in his head as he focused on ripping through Myalagin’s flesh. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to pull his limbs off his body for daring to touch his mate. He snarled in his face, slashing his claws across his body. Myalagin screamed and swung his tiny sword at him. Blood oozed from the wound he inflicted on his chest. But he didn’t feel any pain. He was too far gone with rage to feel anything. Wyrd gripped his neck with both hands and started to squeeze the life out of him. But his hands went limp, powerless. He squeezed again, desperate to end this. The bastard had to die. But his hands went limp again.
Fuck…. he couldn’t kill him. A fairy can’t kill another. Wyrd shook his head at that thought. He raked his claws across Myalagin’s chest, ripping through his robes.
